


these happy golden years

by bluejanes (Chocoaddict)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Crime, Gen, Jashinism, Yugakure, grey morals, violence (because it's Hidan)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6311410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoaddict/pseuds/bluejanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because savagery is the only thing that's real in the ninja world, and there's too much and too little to lose. (Or: What happens when your brother is a mass murdering maniac.) Semi SI/OC fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. wastelands

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto
> 
> So this is basically me trying to figure out how to post fics on a03 (and trying to use a03 more) and thus, my first story here. (Also cross posted on ff.net.)
> 
> Semi-inpsired by Tozette's 'Dirt and Ashes, or: The One-and-a-half Body Problem'
> 
> Title from Laura Ingalls Wilder's "These Happy Golden Years"

There is a line that she remembers, that comes to her unbidden:

_April is the cruelest month._

And this is, indeed, a fact, because she is born on the second day of April.

It is not yet spring but not quite winter, suspended between death and rebirth. This is the time she is born into, and it is along with another child, who is more delicate than the snow that still lingers on the mountaintops stretching above the place she has to call home.

(How so very cruel it is, to be given this life.)

April in Yugakure is never anything beautiful—she can almost taste the rain on her tongue, but the air is so dry that it sucks any life beginning to bloom away. It is an old, tired village, reflecting its inhabitants, and during this month, it is especially brutal.

The sun shines and scorches the cracked soil beneath her feet and the wind is sharp and bitterly cold. It is a contradiction within itself, just like Yugakure is.

They are a village of ninjas, battered and weary of war, but a village of ninjas nonetheless.

(She wishes she had never been reborn).

The child, the young boy who had been born with her, lies by her side, back against the ground and eyes squinting against the too bright sun.

He rolls onto his side as a particularly strong gust of wind passes and Fujiko huddles closer to herself; their clothes thin and useless against the chill. "I'm hungry." Her twin brother ( _twin brother?_ ) snaps, his glare drilling an angry hole into the hard, rough ground. His stomach rumbles with a sound akin to a tiger's growl, and Fujiko is sharply reminded of the aching pain in her own stomach.

Fujiko casts him a wary glance—he's never been able to control his temper, and his outbursts are always ravenous, always looking for an outlet—which just happens to be Fujiko most of the time. "Just wait a little more, Hidan. Kazumi should be home soon."

Hidan ( _the boy who is her brother?_ ) lets out a disgusted hiss and grips a handful of dirt, coloring his fingernails dark brown, and throws it at her. "She's never home, you liar."

Expertly dodging the clump of soil—she's too accustomed to Hidan by now—Fujiko shrugs and pulls her legs closer to her chest. There's nothing much to say, simply because Hidan is right.

Kazumi—the woman who birthed them—is a prostitute who should have never had given birth. (Fujiko refuses to call her mother. "Mother" is a word for a different woman; kinder and full of love and affection and smiles fuller than the moon.) Hidan and Fujiko are mistakes and they are burdens that damaged Kazumi's reputation beyond repair.

How they get food now is a mystery to Fujiko. (Except it's not. She's not a child and she knows how much one night of pleasure can cost.) But she pretends to be ignorant; pretends not to know what people mean when they spit "whore" at Kazumi when they pass by, pretends not to know why they are the bastard children of the village.

Kazumi never talks about their "father", who is less than a ghost to Hidan and Fujiko. The only thing Fujiko and Hidan can agree on is that they don't have a father and don't need one.

Hidan claws at the ground with frustration, and Fujiko can see small smears of red mixed into the dusty brown. She winces inwardly, trying to ignore how dirty and unsanitary their whole living conditions are, and braces herself for a piercing scream, followed by tiny, raging fists.

His three year old body is not yet strong enough to do lasting damage, but _damn_ if it doesn't hurt.

Loud, drunken laughter shakes the air, breaking the sort-of tranquility that had surrounded them, and Hidan's head snaps up, immediately leaping to his feet in a show of dexterity that would have surprised Fujiko if she hadn't been born into a fucking _ninja village_.

"She's home." His eyes glint like amethysts under boiling lava, and they hone in on the slender woman supporting the large, drunken ape of a man that are now stumbling up to their house.

The woman, Kazumi, is delicate like the morning dewdrops on spider webs, but she manages to hold up a man over half her size. Her long, silver hair shimmers like waves made of blades, and she is just like Hidan. (And maybe like Fujiko.) They are fragile looking, like porcelain dolls, but it is nothing but steel and blood and a will to _survive_ beneath their skin.

Fujiko slowly gets to her feet, her mind racing with panic, because it's the fucking _daytime_ and Kazumi _never_ brings customers home during the day. There's something horribly wrong, and it sits like a boulder in her stomach.

Kazumi ignores the two of them as she moves for the door, dragging the man into the hot, suffocating air inside the house. Hidan and Fujiko exchange glances and follow after her, because _something is just not right_.

They are five years old and starving and malnourished and basically made of bones and thin strips of flesh and they are absolutely not prepared for what comes next.

With a pained grunt, Kazumi heaves the half-conscious man onto the floor of the living room, so that he is splayed over the grimy wooden planks. When she looks up, her eyes are those of a wild animal's—cornered and ready to fight and _crazed_. They are not the eyes of a human, and Fujiko takes a step backward because half of her is already predicting the next few seconds.

Kazumi slips a knife out of her tattered kimono and plunges it into the man's chest. Blood sprays from a severed artery and the man howls like a wounded dog. He throws Kazumi into the wall with a single swipe of his arm and tries to lurch onto his feet.

Fujiko is frozen and the only thing she can feel is her heart racing in her chest because— _did she just see a man get stabbed in front of her_? There is only a sour, icy cold where her insides used to be, and she remains rooted in place as the man lumbers towards her, his features twisted into a grotesque snarl that she knows will haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life (if she even lives).

He comes closer and closer and Fujiko can't even think or move and her eyes are wide open and she's probably not breathing and his fist is moving toward her and—

There is a razor-edged cry, straight from the soul, straight from the depths of hell, and Hidan streaks toward the man in a flash of silver-grey and slices the man's knees open with a kitchen knife. The man stumbles and trips with a curse, his face twisting with pain.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Her brother ( _brother!_ ) screams at her, hair disheveled and eyes frenzied and mad. The only thing Fujiko can think of in that moment, is the fact that a three year old just screamed "fuck" into her face and _this is not right none of this is right_.

Hidan snarls at her and grips her arm in a vice like hold that contradicts his fragile body and yanks her so hard that a flash of sheer, intense _agony_ rips through her shoulder. She shrieks, the first sound she's made in the past two minutes, and the two of them fly out of the house in a whirlwind of frantic legs and arms and heavy breaths.

"Let's go!" He keeps dragging her, keeps making her run when her legs are too tired to move, even when there's no air left in her lungs.

They run and run until the decrepit huts part of the seedier side of the village disappear from view; run until they've left broken into the dark woods that surround the south edge of Yugakure.

Finally, _finally_ , they stop and collapse on the floor, gasping for air that is never enough, and sweat rolls down her head like a waterfall. It is hot and cold all around them, and shade of the trees are like a blow to the chest— _too_ cold under the wind that brings icy throbs to her head over her overheated skin.

Time passes indefinitely and somehow, they are safe. Fujiko lies on the dead, itchy leaves under her back and feels the adrenaline that she hadn't known was there leave her body. She's so fucking _tired_ and her body is too heavy for her to move.

"You idiot!" Fujiko turns just in time to see an elbow crash into her stomach, blasting whatever air she had in her body away. Tears prick her eyes and the pain is hollow yet pounding in her stomach, and she can't speak, much less breathe.

She blinks away the black dots that mar her vision and sits up, giving Hidan a wounded, betrayed look. The action hurts her, bone deep, until she remembers that Hidan communicates through bruised knuckles and bony knees.

He is pure fury, but Fujiko thinks she can detect a hint of fear in his fierce expression. "Why didn't you move?!"

"I was scared." Fujiko admits meekly, ashamed of her inability to move, to _think_ under dire circumstances. Her brain is the only weapon she has in this world, and she couldn't even use it. The shame is heavy and damaging on her, and an unwanted tear slips from her eye.

It rolls down her cheek like a droplet of rain (but it isn't raining, not now) and she tries to turn away before Hidan can see it. His eyes focus on the tear and she can see the rage fill him up again, filling him until he's a balloon of a boy. He pushes her into the ground ferociously, and the ground smacks against her, sending echoes of dull pain through her already bruised body.

"Don't cry! Get up! Why are you so weak?" His words pound against her like blows from his fists and Fujiko struggles onto her feet, trembling like a leaf against a hurricane.

"Sorry." She murmurs, but a part of her is humiliated that she's getting beaten down by a _five year old_. Granted, Hidan is a vicious five year old, but he's just a child. She has lived for eighteen more years than he has.

Her spine straightens and she promises herself—biting down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood—that she will never let this happen again. She will not be _weak_ , because to be strong is to survive. (Just like Hidan.)

Hidan grins with approval, his mouth curving wickedly like the edge of a katana. He offers a hand to her, and she takes it.

The two of them head back toward the direction they came from, and Hidan nicks a piece of moldy bread from a dingy stall as they head back to the house they were born in. Using the tiny edges of his still growing teeth, he rips off a piece and hands it to her. She takes it, gratefully, and relishes in the feeling of actually having something in her stomach.

Fujiko casts a sideways glance at her brother—( _her brother._ )—and the setting sun casts a shadow against his face in such a way that crafts the delicate structures of his face into a menacing scowl.

She realizes, then, that Hidan is not the sun or the moon or even the stars that hang in between. He is not the galaxies that spiral large and wide, made of the stars that sprinkle the universe. What he is, is something vastly different and much more frightening.

He is a supernova, on the cusp of life and death. His life is a tightrope but he isn't balancing. It is easier, for him, to throw himself across that thin wire, meandering and leaping towards the other side with a bravery bordering on foolish. Every move is an explosion, a roar of passion, blazing brightly, screaming _I'm here_.

He is always caught up in what is purely _life_ , and sometimes, it's so dazzling that it burns before it blinds.

Fujiko is terrified but she tells herself that she will not be. (This is the only way to survive).

Her grip on his hand tightens and he squeezes back even harder. The bones in her hand ache but she doesn't let go.

And this, with all its savagery and desperation, reminds her of a line; a piece of herself from what feels like an eternity and a half ago, but really wasn't:

_I will show you fear in a handful of dust._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quotes and most of the chapter title taken from "The Wasteland" by T.S Eliot. the lines i used have many different interpretations but i basically just molded them to fit in with this.
> 
> for those who might be curious: fujiko means child of wisteria (according to google lol)
> 
> Also, here's my interpretation of hidan as a sibling: i don't really think he'd be a particularly nice or loving brother (except when it counts) and there are siblings that don't get along. he's also very angry so that plays into how he treats people. fujiko and hidan have a tentative relationship made stronger by mutual struggles for survival but it ain't always sunshine and daises and hidan can get abusive and violent. so basically: he's not a good brother (most of the time).


	2. lily of the valley

The sunset looks soft, a pretty pastel mix of colors that belie the dusty, shabby shacks that the people of the poorer part of Yugakure call home. The sky is a piece of fantasy in a hard, vicious world. (Except here, everything is a fantasy for Fujiko.)

Hidan finishes chewing the bread he stole from a vendor they'd passed and uses his free arm to roughly wipe away the bread crumbs stuck to his mouth. They are almost back to where they live, and both of them know there's only going to be one person left living in there. And Fujiko really, really hopes the dead body isn't Kazumi's.

She swallows nervously, her saliva sticking to her parched throat, and casts a perfunctory glance at Hidan. His face is stiff but hints of anticipation threaten to burst through his trembling lips. Whether it's nervous anticipation or eager anticipation, Fujiko doesn't know. Hidan has never been predictable.

The two approach the sloppy mess of wooden planks that they call their house. The dry ground burns the soles of her feet and but her skin has grown tough through her earlier years of shedding the baby skin. Good shoes are hard to come by in such a poor village like Yugakure, and oftentimes, Fujiko and Hidan just choose to go barefoot.

Hidan makes a sound that resembles a hiss as he leans forward, peeking through the front doorway of the house. Fujiko's heart pounds in her chest and she tries not to breathe loudly, making sure that whoever is still alive won't notice them.

There's a loud grunt and a thud and Hidan turns to Fujiko with a strange expression on his face. His eyes glint with something she can't name and he pulls her forward, teeth bared into something that was supposed to resemble a grin.

Fujiko's legs tremble as she passes through the doorway and she can't help but feel a tingle of relief as she looks into the face of Kazumi, alive and breathing heavily.

The woman's face is still twisted into an ugly snarl that looks out of place on her delicate features. Beads of sweat roll down her face and a hint of a bruise is starting to bloom on her shoulder where her kimono has started to slip.

"Come and help me." She snaps, though it's more of a grunt. Kazumi is trying to move the body of the dead man, but the weight of his body has him continuously sagging towards the floor.

Fujiko's eyes stray to the large kitchen knife sticking out of the man's neck and she blinks, hard, because it looks like something out of a movie and she has a strange urge to touch it and check if it's real. If he's actually dead.

"Aren't you going to help me?" Kazumi half barks, half screams at them, irritation seeping through her voice. Strangely enough, there is not one hint of fear, and her gaze only holds a cold, remorseless satisfaction. It is terrifying.

Hidan is the first to move. He lets go of Fujiko's hand and walks over to Kazumi, dangerously calm. Gripping the man's thick ankle, he begins to help heave the body toward the direction of the backyard, which is really just a patch of dirt and dying weeds.

And just like that, whatever had taken a hold of Fujiko's body releases her, and she feels her feet moving toward the body— _dead body_ —as she reaches down to take a hold of the man's other ankle.

His ankle is hairy and meaty, and it's too large for her small hands to hold. But she digs her fingernails into his flesh and _pulls_ , the still developing muscles in her arms straining and screaming with the weight. She's pulling a dead body, and none of this feels real.

The past few hours feel like a dream—no, a nightmare—and it just can't be real.

 _None of this is real_.

Her mind swims with the knowledge of everything that has happened and is happening and she wants to scream because nothing feels real.

(She was supposed to be dead.)

Together, the three of them haul the body into the backyard, leaving behind a trail of blood. Fujiko lets go of the man's ankle and slowly lifts her hand to her face, surprised to see a smear of blood there.

She feels numb and hollow and even though there's blood on her hand, it doesn't feel like _blood._ Her gaze shifts to Kazumi and she stares at the red staining the woman's hands and clothes.

 _This isn't real_.

Her feet lead her back inside as she walks blindly in a daze and she stops and collapses onto her knees in front of the pool of scarlet where the man's body used to be.

And for some reason, a reason she has yet to understand, the blood looks like corroded flowers drowning in rivers of acid and it's too bright, too bright—

—too bright red spider lilies crumbling and falling to tatters—

It's the most beautiful scene she's ever seen.

It is the fine line between life and death in all its glory, the swiftness and power in the single strike to kill, the savagery in survival. It is beautiful, in all its ugliness, and Fujiko wishes she could be disgusted, but she really isn't.

Her heart beats in the empty cave of her chest and her fingers reach out, as if they have a mind of their own, and skim over the blood, sending ripples through the shimmering red.

(She has seen fake blood in movies, seen them in those cheesy horror movies where stupid people get killed and blood spurts everywhere and there's just so much blood. But it is nothing like the real thing and Fujiko wonders if she's still dreaming.

[because how can this be the real thing?])

The worn tatami mat dips slightly next her and small, pale fingers reach out alongside her, filled with wonder, dipping themselves in the blood like a lover's caress.

Fujiko doesn't have to turn to know it's Hidan. The two of them don't say a word, but their silence is more than enough.

There is one thing that Fujiko now knows and she knows it without a single doubt: blood is _red_.

A large, smelly cloth hits Fujiko in the back of her head and jolts her out of her reverie. Next to her, Hidan yelps loudly as the same thing happens to him.

"What are you waiting for? Clean it up." Kazumi's voice is pure ice and disdain and Fujiko feels like an ant beneath her gaze, waiting to be crushed.

She dips her head meekly and begins to mop up the blood, watching the color seep through the towel, reminding her of a piece of crimson silk she'd once seen (a long, long time ago).

(A long time ago. Perhaps a lifetime before.)

She works mindlessly and her thoughts inevitably drift to her death. It is, after all, difficult not to think of it when cleaning up the remnants of a murder. But there isn't much to think about, simply because she doesn't remember her death.

All she knows is that she died, and the next thing she knew, her soul was inhabiting the body of a newborn baby girl.

It is a rather strange thing to know death, yet not remember it. Fujiko knows death like a distant memory, but she does not know it like she should. Sometimes, she wonders how she died and about the people she left behind, but it is easier not to think about it and Fujiko just wants a life to live, not to suffer in.

Because nostalgia is perhaps the loneliest feeling of all.

The past is not something to be looked upon fondly but rather is to be longed for; something that is flightier than a dream, like sand falling through the smallest of cracks in cupped hands.

(Or perhaps it is a dream, and this life is another dream within that dream. And right now, she can't wake up. [she's afraid to sleep because what is a dream within a dream within a dream? maybe she'll never wake up, falling farther and farther into the realm of dreams.] Whatever it is, Fujiko doesn't know. She just misses what she once had.)

Life in Yugakure is absolutely miserable, and Fujiko longs desperately for her past pleasures, the little things, like actual toilet seats and freshly printed books and soft beds and clean food and everything and more. She snorts to herself, because there are some days she's so bored she'd willingly spend it playing the Kim Kardashian: Hollywood game from the app store.

Suddenly, there's a loud slap of wet towel against floor and Fujiko looks to her side to see Hidan's frustrated scowl. "We're never gonna finish." He growls, though it's more of a whine.

Fujiko can't help but agree—her shoulders and back ache from bending for so long and her knees throb against the hard floor. "We have to finish." She says quietly, trying to convey the importance of not letting anyone find a _dead body_ in their house.

Hidan kicks the wall closest to him and lets out a small scream. "I hate this! Why d'we hafta be stuck with that crazy woman anyway?"

A shadow looms over them and Hidan's eyes widen before he looks up to meet Kazumi's eyes. Her gaze is demeaning and she sneers at him. "That's right, I'm crazy. What are you going to do about it?" Hidan's fists clench angrily at his sides and he glances away. "Nothing." He mumbles, an uncharacteristically soft sound compared to the loudness that always explodes from him. His tone speaks volumes and Fujiko doesn't have to hear anything else to know that this relationship isn't going to end well in the future.

Fujiko inches closer to Hidan as Kazumi gracefully turns on her heel and turns away, presumably to finish burying the body. Her fingers are stained with dirt like Hidan's, but no matter how much blood and dirt gets on Kazumi, she always looks like a queen. A regal figure made of glittering ice and snow, untouchable and bitterly cold.

The moonlight turns the blood to a rich burgundy and Fujiko holds back a yawn before settling back into her previous posture and once again wiping the floor clean of any evidence that could incriminate them.

The criminal justice system here is flawed, like every other thing is, but even so, everyone knows that murder demands a punishment of execution, no matter civilian or ninja.

Fujiko allows herself a wry grin. Good thing there's no police system in this small village, or the whole area would get arrested.

But no one can find out about the body—the people here are treacherous snakes and they will smile at you one moment but stab you in the next.

By the time they finish cleaning up, the night air has infiltrated the house through the many cracks and it is freezing Fujiko's ass off. Her thin clothes have never been any help against the cold and she huddles with Hidan under the piece of cloth they call a blanket.

This is the only time Hidan will let her cuddle up to him—he isn't prideful enough to let himself freeze to death. She relishes in this closeness to another human being; her blood, her brother, and it is only these times that she doesn't feel lonely.

Kazumi carefully lies down on her futon, her limbs straight and head facing the ceiling, looking every inch as composed as she is during the day. Making sure Hidan's asleep, Fujiko asks the question that's been eating at her ever since she saw the body. "Why did you kill him?" She whispers. The man's name hasn't been given, and Fujiko would prefer it to stay that way. The less she knows, the safer she is.

Fujiko's hair glimmers with pure moonlight and stars as she fixes Fujiko with a sharp gaze. "Because I wanted to." The answer is quite simple, but it sends shivers racing down Fujiko's spine, nonetheless.

There is nothing but lust in those eyes—the need to kill, a bloodthirstiness that Kazumi tries to cover up with blank indifference, but is unable to suppress. Not for the first time, Fujiko wonders if Kazumi could be a psychopath.

Kazumi must see the fear shivering in Fujiko, because she gives her a shark-like smile. "At least we're richer than we were before." Her eyes drift to the pouch she took from the man and Fujiko's follow hers.

And then, Fujiko realizes, that this is only the beginning. The beginning of long, horrifying years to come, and she so desperately wants this to _not be real_.

" _That corpse you planted last year in your garden, has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?"_

Fujiko eyes the lily of the valleys resting innocently in the clay pot tucked away in the far corner of the room, and shudders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken again from "The Wasteland" by T S Eliot!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and left kudos! It made me very happy ;-;
> 
> I probably overused the word "blood" whoops. Also flowers have different meanings in different countries (??) so I'm just using the Japanese meanings for the flowers for the rest of this story. And the reason why Fujiko doesn't remember her death will be explained later (along with more background stuff). (I also have a headcanon that Hidan has a slight accent as a kid because he lives in a different village/country.) tbh Hidan probably speaks too well for a kid his age but whoops it's a fanfic


	3. hyacinth girl

It is summer and the heat is disgustingly oppressive.

The air around Fujiko feels gross and suffocating —it's so hot she can hardly bear to breathe. A sardonic huff of laughter falls from her lips as she's once again reminded why exactly Yugakure is in a country called the Land of Hot Water.

Her eyes drift to the backyard, and her eyes stray to the small bump in the ground where Kazumi buried the man.

It's been a week but the memories are still vivid in her mind; thrashing around and choking her whenever she tries to close her eyes. Strangely enough, she kind of likes it, in a twisted way. It reminds her that she's still human.

She doesn't want to become like Kazumi. Even if Kazumi isn't her real mother, people always have said that no matter how hard you try, you'll always have pieces of your parents in you.

(She tells herself that she will never, _never_ be like Kazumi.)

There is a cherry blossom tree growing in the dirt yard that is their backyard. It is skinny and ugly and the pink flowers are tinted with yellow and their petals are dead and crinkled at the edges.

But nonetheless, it grows.

Which is why Fujiko doesn't understand why Kazumi wants to grow _another_ plant that will probably be half dead within a few weeks.

She'd told her to buy wisteria seeds, which confuses Fujiko to no end, because Kazumi has never been much of a florist.

And then, most perplexing of all, she'd handed Fujiko a bag of coins.

Never, _never_ in her years living with Kazumi has Kazumi ever been so generous with money. Perhaps it's because of the money they'd gained after Kazumi killed the man. Perhaps-

There is an answer in the back of Fujiko's head; so faint and so horrifying that it is barely there.

Fujiko clenches her fist around the coins, the rough metal edges digging into her palm, and tries not to blink away the scene flashing before her eyes: coins spilling out a dead body's pocket, dyed red, red, red, spilling out just like the blood from the body's veins.

"What are you waiting for?" An annoyed growl breaks through her thoughts. "Let's go!" Hidan taps his foot impatiently by the door and Fujiko pulls herself to her feet, one hand wrapped tightly around the coins and one hand pushing herself up.

Hidan's eyes drift to her closed fist and he eyes it with distaste. "Isn't that the money the bitch gave you?"

Fujiko sighs and nods, not even affected by Hidan's frequent cursing anymore. And she didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to rub off on her. She had to catch herself from calling Kazumi a bitch to her face a few days ago. It'd been a close call.

They begin to walk towards the marketplace — which is basically a grimy street where everyone comes to sell their products, whether it be legal or illegal — when Hidan suddenly pauses in his steps. Fujiko glances over at him and is met with mischievously wicked eyes.

"Why don't we use the money for something else?"

Fujiko stares. "Like what."

"I dunno, anything." Hidan grins, something faintly reminiscent of Kazumi.

"No."

Hidan scowls. "What? Why? It's not like the bitch'll know what we did with it anyway."

Fujiko fixes him with a flat stare. "Are you kidding me? Of course she'll know. She knows everything that goes on in this village."

"Fu-ji- _ko_." Hidan whines, edging closer to her. "C'monnnnn, we could get some of those sweets you've been looking at for the past month." At Fujiko's surprised look, he smirks. "Don't think I didn't notice." His voice is annoyingly smug.

Finally, Fujiko lets out an exasperated breath. Hidan is a persistent little bastard when it comes to things he wants. Of course, Fujiko should know better by now, because he always, _always_ gets them into trouble, but she can't help it. It's _Hidan_. He's the only one she's got in this hellhole.

" _Fine_. Just let me buy the seeds first and I'll give you what's left. _Only_ if there's any left."

She doesn't even have to look at Hidan to know he has that annoyingly smug face on to match his voice.

They walk the rest of the way in silence and once they reach the market, he wordlessly slinks off and Fujiko doesn't bother stopping him. That's never worked out well before, and even though wherever he's going is probably the place that taught him words like "fuck" or "bitch", Hidan's always come back.

Shaking her head slightly, Fujiko sets out to find the florist. The distinct smell of shit and piss wafts through the air and Fujiko coughs slightly. The area here is different from the line of run down huts that she lives in. The huts are closest to the forest, and so there's less marketing activity over there.

Here, there are dark, winding streets narrow alleys, and apartment buildings so cramped that you could reach out the window and touch the brick of the building next to you.

This, and the area where Fujko lives, is the shittier side of Yugakure. The legal and criminal system is totally fucked and the police are corrupt. There's black market dealings everywhere and Fujiko _knows_ that there's human trafficking going on somewhere around here.

So she keeps to herself, trying to take up the least amount of space possible, and keeps a wary eye out for any suspicious movements.

There's a loud shout and a bang and then more shouts coming from Fujiko's right, but she only spares the commotion a glance before continuing on her way. It isn't worth getting mixed up in other people's business here.

Eventually, she spots a crudely painted sign, with the word "flowers" written in broad, sloppy strokes.

The local florist is really nothing more than a small stand with a few dried up flowers, and Fujiko approaches the old man with caution. She's passed by his stand a few times before, but she's never actually stopped and talked to him.

As soon as she steps up to the stand, the old man gives her a toothy grin, wide and silly and missing more than a few teeth. "Wha' can ah do fer ye?" His words are heavy with the typical Yugakure accent. Kazumi spoke the formal language of the Land of Hot Water, so she and Hidan had never really adopted the Yugakure accent.

Fujiko tiptoes and stretches her hand up as she gently drops the coins onto the table. "A packet of wisteria seeds, please."

"Ah!" The old man looks overjoyed. "Deym wisterias er real beauties, dey er." He bends down slowly as his spine cracks with a painful sound and rummages through a pile of things that Fujiko can't see.

Finally, he stands up and holds out a small package triumphantly. "Dere ye go, dearie."

Fujiko gives him a hesitant smile, unsure if he's genuine or not — growing up in an area that thrives off the black market and brothels doesn't make the inhabitants exactly the most honest people — and takes the seeds. His rough, weathered fingers brush over hers and Fujiko quickly snaps her hand back, unused to the physical contact. (The last time someone touched her, it was Hidan, and he was planting his fist in her stomach. Fujiko still isn't sure if he was trying to be playful.)

If the old man notices her somewhat rude reaction, he doesn't react. Fujiko winces inwardly and wonders where her manners have gone. She's so flustered that she leaves without thanking him and only remembers it later, when she's lying down to sleep.

That night, Fujiko returns with wisteria seeds and a few leftover coins and Hidan returns with scattered bruises and cuts. She wordlessly hands him the coins. Neither of them ask the other anything.

* * *

The wisteria plant is _hers_ , Fujiko decides. She doesn't know why she's feeling so attached to a plant that's only just been planted, but she suspects it has something to do with her name, which ironically, means child of wisterias.

The sun beats down heavily against her back as she determinedly pats the soil around the small lump where the seed was planted.

She straightens, dragging herself upright, as she trudges back into the hut and flops down on the floor; limbs sprawled out haphazardly.

Hidan shoots her an irritated look when one of her arms accidentally collide with his leg, and she doesn't blame him, because it feels disgusting-their skin is sticky and sweaty and hot and it makes everything worse when their body heat feeds into each other's.

The air is stale and Hidan doesn't bother moving his leg away from her arm, and frankly, Fujiko can't find the energy to move either. It's like the heat is sapping away at her spirit. Sweat continuously rolls down her forehead and pools in literally every place possible. She's sweating in places she hadn't known she could sweat in before, and she tries very, very hard not to react in a way that would betray her comfortable upbringing in her previous life.

To be honest, she doesn't really remember much from her previous life. Just bits and pieces, here and there; some triggered by events and some that just fall into her brain.

She's glad for this. There are some things that she remembers, like her old family, and the very sanitary and luxurious life of the twenty first century that she'd been living, that she prefers to forget.

It's always easier to forget.

There is a whale that scientists call the "world's loneliest whale". It calls at 52 hertz; a pitch too high for other whales to detect.

No matter how much it calls, there's never any response.

Fujiko is that whale.

There will never be anyone who will understand her; adults and children alike. They'll never know about the iphone she used to have, the abundant soft toilet paper, the television shows she used to binge all day. They'll never know the world she used to live in and thus they can never understand her-an adultchild smashed into a body that is not quite hers but is hers.

Although she doesn't remember much, she remembers enough.

Mindless movements; memories of the past echo and ghost through her present. She's feeling particularly melancholic today and on days like these, there's nothing else to do but sit and mope until there's nothing left but emptiness.

Today is particularly good for moping, because earlier that day, she'd been in the market, and this is what had happened:

She sees a flash of red hair from out of the corner of her eye and all the blood in her stops pumping as her heart literally stops in her chest for an agonizing, terrified second.

 _Is it_ — _could it be — is she_ _—_

A fearful hope wells in her chest and she slowly turns her head, only to meet a face completely different than the one she had been expecting.

Anguish wrenches her heart and she can't breathe, because all of a sudden, there's moisture building up in her eyes and she has no idea what just happened in the span of the past seven seconds.

She smiles bitterly and the tears in her eyes never fall, because the sun has dried them all up and there's nothing left but a hollow reminder of why she should have never tried to remember in the first place.

_Long, red hair, the color of the setting sun over the ocean, twisted expertly into a bun. The girl touches her own hair and whines, "Mom, I can't tie my hair". The woman turns around, clear blue eyes unbearably fond. "Linda, you're going to have to learn how to tie your own hair one day. What will you do when you go to college?" "I'll just drive home every day so you can tie my hair." The woman laughs, a throaty, warm sound, and gathers up the girl's hair; her touch gentle and soothing as she smoothes the strands. The girl hums contentedly, closing her eyes as the woman swiftly wraps the hair into a bun, finishing it off with the soft snap of a rubber band._

It is better to forget than to feel at all.

* * *

...Fujiko knows.

She _knows_.

She lifts a trembling hand — when had it started trembling? — towards the pot that holds the only plant in their house — a lily of the valley — and slowly pushes her fingers into the dirt.

Her fingers sink deeper and deeper until —

Fujiko flinches and yanks her hand away in a single horrified movement.

There is something else in the pot besides the plant.

The feeling of the _thing_ is indescribable — simply because she had never touched anything like this before.

Her hands are shaking so much she can hardly think straight and her breaths come out unsteadily. Cautiously, she dips her fingers back into the pot and begins to tentatively push the soil to the side.

She's making sure not to let any of it spill onto the side, lest Kazumi discover what she's doing, and when she's hit something solid, she gingerly pulls it into the light. And drops it the moment it reaches the dim lighting of the lamp.

What's inside the pot is the rotting remains of a human ear.

Gagging, she quickly shoves the soil back into a flat surface, returning it back to its original, peaceful state.

 _I need to wash my hands_ — _I need to wash — I need soap — god, I need to wash my hands that was so disgusting ohmygod where's the soap_ _—_

Her mind is racing as she dashes towards their small, bedraggled shared bathroom. She slams her hand on the knob of the sink and lets the water wash over her.

 _She knows_.

She knows for sure now, why Kazumi had wanted those seeds. Why Kazumi is getting into gardening these days. Why Kazumi has begun to visit the weapons shop more often. Why there is a cherry blossom tree in their backyard.

Kazumi is an intelligent woman. Intelligent enough to become a serial killer without getting caught.

She plants flowers on top of her victims and when their dead bodies break down, they become the nutrients necessary for a plant to grow.

There's a vague recollection of her studies in psychology, that serial killers like taking trophies from their victims.

Fujiko supposes that a corpse is trophy enough.

Worst of all, though, is not that Kazumi is a serial killer. It is that this does not bode well for Fujiko and Hidan's future.

They are going to have to continue helping her.

Fujiko doesn't know why Kazumi became a serial killer — she's not sure she wants to know why — but she and Hidan are five years old and for Kazumi, that's more than old enough to join the ninja Academy.

Becoming a ninja isn't necessarily a bad thing — it's necessary, in fact, to survive in a place like Yugakure — but Fujiko doesn't want to be a slave to Kazumi for the rest of her life.

She wants to get out of this godforsaken place and live her life, far, far away from Kazumi.

(Even a ninja isn't enough to kill Kazumi. That man she'd killed... He'd been a fully grown ninja. And he'd been brutally slaughtered by Kazumi.)

Suddenly, Fujiko wonders-who were the people the Kazumi killed? Did they have family? Were they alone? What kind of people were they? Did they deserve to be killed?

...Fujiko blinks. And then she goes to the market.

The old man doesn't ask her why she's suddenly buying so many purple hyacinth seeds, but he does ask her if she'd like to drop by again sometime soon.

"Ah have sumedin ter show ye dat ye might loike." He'd told her, with his friendly, toothy grin.

Fujiko hadn't given a straight answer but she considers the idea of making a friend, even if the friend is decades older than her.

Gently and meticulously, Fujiko plants the seeds around the garden, in various, scattered places.

She plants so many that she can barely straighten her back by the time she's done.

" _They called me the hyacinth girl."_

Fujiko laughs upon remembering the line.

She wonders if she'll be the wisteria girl or the hyacinth girl by the time she's old enough to get out of Yugakure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kazumi is smart and she knows how to manipulate the hell outta her kids. except fujiko hasn't realized that she's being manipulated yet. 
> 
> also: purple hyacinths mean "i'm sorry. please forgive me."
> 
> in japan, apparently wisterias are used to decorate houses. but i used a different meaning for them here-wisterias are one of the most poisonous flowers; so even if they're pretty, they can still hurt you.
> 
> quote once again taken from T. 's "The Wasteland".
> 
> and as usual, thank you for reading!


	4. and still she sits

The blistering heat of summer has dwindled down to a cool, crisp wind by the time Hidan and Fujiko start the Academy.

Unsurprisingly enough, the state of the Academy reflects the state of their village.

It’s no secret that their village is failing horrendously. Fujiko suspects that within the next decade or so, the village will be nothing but tatters of what once was. And by that time, she’ll hopefully be somewhere else.

Yugakure is known to produce mediocre ninja. That’s why they never get the high paying missions or the prestige necessary to keep the village running. At this point, the village lives on nothing but dirty money and depravity.

There are at most twenty or so kids in the Academy at the moment--the rest of the children in the village are off doing more productive things, like working for their family business. Hidan and Kazumi stick out like a sore thumb with their silver hair and pale skin. And in the small group of ten kids in their age range, they are the youngest.

They are targets.

Except that Hidan has never been easy prey, because he’s always been a predator. The older kids don’t know this until he’s on them, like a shark on blood, excitedly smashing his vicious fists into every part of their bodies that he can reach.

Hidan makes sure to beat the kid who tried to take their money to a broken, sobbing pulp before letting him go.

“Anyone else wanna fight?” There’s exhilaration singing in Hidan’s gleeful question.

The oldest kid of the group, some boy looking to be around ten or eleven, steps forward, scowling heavily. “You fucking--”

Before he can even finish his sentence, Hidan is there, fists already swinging like a steel wrecking ball. The kid cries out and returns with a punch of his own; his larger body having the advantage over Hidan’s small one, and throws Hidan onto the ground with a sickening crunch.

The kid smirks triumphantly, expecting Hidan to be beaten down, but Fujiko knows better. She doesn’t move or speak but instead waits patiently for Hidan to get up.

And he does. While cackling with such excitement and joy that the kid actually takes a step back, horrified by Hidan’s complete opposite reaction to his expectations.

“That felt great!” Hidan’s nose is crooked and bleeding but he’s grinning like tomorrow. “That was so good, in fact, that it’s only right if I give you some too!” Pleasantly, he slams his heel into the kid’s face, humming lightly under his breath. Fujiko recognizes it as a childish song that she sometimes sings to herself while gardening. Strangely enough, it’s one of the only things she can remember clearly about her previous life. She can’t hold back the snort that escapes her lips, because the song is absolutely ridiculous coming from Hidan.

In the same moment of her snort, the kid flies back into a nearby tree, his cheekbone crushed under the impact of Hidan’s kick. Fujiko winces in slight sympathy. Hidan has always been overwhelmingly talented in physical fights.

The kid doesn’t get back up.

“Ehehehe!” Hidan lets out a refreshed, shrill laugh, and turns his face towards the sky. His face looks like a bunch of red and blue fruits just shat all over it, but he’s overwhelmingly happy.

He lowers his gaze and turns to look straight at Fujiko; eyes sharp with the type of light so bright that it reminds her of the shrill shrieks of metal nails on chalkboard. His gaze, pinning and unyielding, is a question. Or at least, that’s what Fujiko interprets it as.

 _Me or the rest of these losers?_ It seems to ask, and even before the moment is over she is already moving towards him. There’s half a heartbeat of hesitation--but it’s easily swallowed by the ultimatum: someone who’s been beside you since birth, or a group of strangers? The answer is simple.

The air is a collection of held breaths in the mouths of small, frightened children. Fujiko walks over and stands besides Hidan.

The rest of the kids turn and run away.

Only one boy goes back to help the kid that Hidan kicked into the tree. Fujiko recognizes him as their neighbor’s son, only two years older than Hidan and herself, Takeshi Yasushi.

Fujiko ignores them and turns to face Hidan.

“Idiot.” She sighs, and takes Hidan’s face in her hands. He blinks, eyes wide and surprised by her tender gesture, and makes to move away, but allows her to touch him. Fujiko can’t help but feel pleased that he trusts her, surprising as it is. Hidan opens his mouth to say something and then promptly lets out a curse when Fujiko snaps his nose back into place in one smooth movement.

“Bitch.” He grumbles, but the word lacks bite and is more of a twisted way of expressing gratitude. Fujiko rolls her eyes because considering that it’s _Hidan_ , he wouldn't know how to properly express gratitude to save his life.

“You need to clean up your face.” She answers bluntly.

Hidan ignores her and gives her a grin, all his teeth bared in a slightly disconcerting way. “Ah, I haven’t had so much fun in a long time!” He’s in a significantly better mood than before and Fujiko takes it in stride.

She looks at her brother, face smeared with blood and fingers caked with dirt and covered in scabs, and feels her mouth quirk fondly. Somehow, the image of him standing there, face exploding with pride and joy, covered in blood and bruises under the soft glow of the setting sun, is warming to her heart. She ruffles his hair in an affectionate manner and says, “Let’s go.”

Hidan doesn’t protest the hair ruffle, for once, and bounds into step beside her.

Their first day at the Academy doesn’t teach them jackshit but it teaches the other kids to stay the hell away from them.

[[Seeing her brother beat up a bunch of little kids eats at her conscience, but she shoves it down. They are different from her and Hidan. They were not born from a madwoman.

Hidan may not always do the right things but he _survives_ , and Fujiko will too. And now no one will mess with them again.

Honestly, Fujiko _wants_ to be different. Sometimes, she tries. But sometimes, it is hard to feel.

There is something in Fujiko, a madness--a _sickness_ \--that is embedded deep in her bones, her blood, her flesh; that had already started to form when the name “Fujiko” was just a concept, when her second life had been brought into the world.

_Like mother like daughter, like mother like son._

A madness of the heart and soul, a madness that rots and rots and eats at the thing called humanity, until there is nothing but that madness left.

Fujiko feels it resting; waiting. Waiting until the very moment when she cannot hold onto what makes her human anymore, and then, it will strike.

// _Family//who am i//what is right//what is wrong_ // _how do i survive//IDON'TWANTTOBETHATWOMAN//_ Fujiko finds questions that she can’t answer. So she does the one thing she knows how to do. Stay by her family.]]

 

…

 

Kazumi comes back home that night.

She hardly spares a glance for Hidan’s bruises and swollen nose. “You won.” It isn’t a question.

Hidan glares, defiant and fierce under the dim lighting of the room. “Of course.”

“Hm.” Kazumi makes a noncommittal noise under her breath, face smooth like ice. She looks at Fujiko and her eyes, usually impenetrable like metal, now show something else. Eyebrows pulled down, nose slightly wrinkled, upper lip pulled up--the classic expression of disgust. Fujiko recognizes it immediately because it’s the same face she directs at Hidan and her whenever they do something. It marrs Kazumi’s face, like a carnival mask, pulling blank features into the twists of a monster’s.

“Pathetic little bitch.” She tells Fujiko, and she means every word of it. “I don’t know why I ever bothered to let a useless piece of shit like you out of my womb.”

Kazumi’s curse words are gift-wrapped poisonous barbs enveloped in a honey tongue.

Spite and anger dig deep into Fujiko’s gut, slicing into her. Shame swallows them.

It is hard not to feel pathetic when you are constantly being told you are.

Kazumi grips Fujiko’s chin, long nails cutting into her flesh, fingers like ropes around her throat. She forcefully moves Fujiko’s head from right to left, up and then down. Sighs with mocking disappointment. “Such a waste. Something as pretty and pathetic as you would be better off doing something else.”

Fighting against every single instinct in her body, Fujiko does not shudder.

Her feet are stuck to the ground, every cell frozen, and all she can feel are Kazumi’s long, slender fingers clenching her chin.

Kazumi tsks and leans forward, long silver hair brushing against Fujiko’s cheek like needles. “Perhaps I should put you elsewhere, where you don’t have to learn. Perhaps...tomorrow, you should come to work with _me_ .” She’s so close that Fujiko can smell the perfume wafting off of her--a rich, flowery scent that is very, very familiar. Another inhale and Fujiko remembers where she’s smelled this before. _Lily of the valley_.

Her tongue is glued to the roof of her mouth. _Idon’twanttogotoworkwithyou_ screams in her lungs, rages in her head, forms in her mouth. But she can’t say it. Kazumi’s fingers press harder into her chin and cruelty sits in the corners of her delicate, painted mouth.

And then--Hidan sinks his teeth into Kazumi’s arm--the arm that holds Fujiko prisoner--and gouges into her flesh as much as he can with his still developing teeth.

With a start, Kazumi rips her hand away and releases her grip on Fujiko. _Finally, finally, finally_. All of a sudden, she can breathe again.

“You shit, _let go_.” Kazumi snarls, and slams her other elbow into Hidan’s damaged nose. With a howl, he falls to the ground, blood dripping from between his fingers.

He looks up and spits and then smiles. Vicious, furious, hateful. “Fuck you.” Blood flows thick in his nose and he breathes through his throat. Fujiko feels her frozen nerves come back to life and she scrambles to Hidan’s side, trying to examine the state of his nose.

Kazumi examines the red indentation Hidan left on her arm like it is no more than a silly ink mark. And the she looks at the two, crouched on the ground: one glowering with resentment, the other turned with back half turned away from Kazumi, keeping her in sight, shoulders hunched forward.

Even without anything being said, Fujiko knows which one of them is expendable.

Hidan is breathing harshly, eyes bright, teeth bared, blood dripping onto his hands and his clothes. He is the sparks in the fire and Fujiko is just the ashes.

She straightens her back, breathes in just once, and then turns so that she faces Kazumi directly. “I’m going to be a ninja.” Not a kunoichi. Just a ninja.

Kazumi doesn't flinch at her defiant words. Doesn't look with surprise. Doesn't see Fujiko differently. “Don’t come begging for a second chance when you fail.” Kazumi sneers. Casting a contemplative look at the two of them, she leaves.

Once the sound of her footsteps disappear, Fujiko lets her whole body slump, feeling exhaustion sink into her like too-heavy weights.

“Fuck, this actually hurts. Fucking bitch hits hard.” Hidan mutters, and gets to his feet.

Fujiko just wants to sit there forever but she can’t, so she gets up. “Come on.” She pulls Hidan towards the bathroom’s rusty sink and grabs a towel. Carefully, she cleans his bloody nose. Too bad they don’t have ice. Thankfully, his nose isn’t out of place, although its swelling has gone up considerably.

“Should we find a doctor?” She wonders, still peering at Hidan’s nose. There aren’t many people who have medical skills here, and Fujiko herself is definitely not one of them.

“No.” He snaps, and throws the towel to the ground. His fists are still clenched and she can tell that his loss against Kazumi is tearing at him. All it took was one hit for him to be thrown to his knees.  

In a rare moment of silence, the two of them sit on the bathroom floor, still lost in what just happened.

Eventually, Fujiko opens her mouth and lets out a croaky, “Thanks.”

“Shut up. You’re too weak.” There’s a pause. The words _I’m weak_ sit in the empty space.

“I meant it, you know.” She tells him, “I’m going to be a ninja.” Because she is going to _survive_.

“Whatever.” He glares at his hands. “I’m not going to the Academy anymore.”

“What? Why?” Fujiko asks, startled.

“It’s fucking useless.” Standing up abruptly, he moves back into the living room where they sleep and flops down on the flimsy, fraying futon. Fujiko follows him and sits down on the edge of the futon.

She’d always known that Hidan wouldn’t be able to last sitting through days of boring lectures, but she hadn’t expected his patience to run out this fast. She just doesn’t want to be alone. But she also knows what kind of person Hidan is, and nothing she says could ever change his mind.

Within minutes, Hidan is asleep, lying spread-eagle over the entire futon. Night melts into midnight and Fujiko doesn’t sleep.

She stays where she is and watches the lily of the valley sitting in the corner of the room. Where it always is.

_The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, glowed on the marble…_

And still it sits in its corner, small and delicate and white, growing over rotten flesh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what we have here is fujiko battling her two lives. there's a clash between her past personality and her current one. like if you're born from a different person, you inherit different things. i think personality is crafted by environment and how you're raised, but there are also small parts of it you can inherit. and kazumi is a sociopath, lacking empathy, which is something fujiko realizes. because fujiko didn't have any mental illnesses in her previous life, she is very aware of it in her current life. but hidan doesn't have that precedent, so he can't tell the difference. plus, here, there's no one to teach them wrong and right. and then there's a conflict between survival and staying moral, which i won't get into now since this is getting long lol
> 
> anyway thanks for reading!!!


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